


Some Such Place

by baehj2915



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe - Canon, Bottom!Erik, Films, Fluff, Gay and Mutant in sixties, I am a little obsessed with movies, M/M, No Beach Divorce, Paratextual fic, Smut of the tender lovemaking variety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-04
Updated: 2012-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-30 14:55:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baehj2915/pseuds/baehj2915
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Erik go on a date to see <i>Doctor Zhivago in 1965</i>, or I continue to avoid canon because canon gave me bad feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Such Place

**Author's Note:**

> Things: 
> 
> 1) Obvs, this is an AU where there is no beach divorce and they stay together and get married and stay best friends and are ersatz gay dads for a slew of adorable mutant children like James McAvoy and I wanted. There is no reason for this other than the fact that it makes me happy. I pretend to no storytelling integrity. 
> 
> 2) There is a mention of Kurt, but not as Mystique's son. He's just there because I love Nightcrawler and he should be everywhere. 
> 
> 3) The title "Some Such Place" comes from a _Doctor Zhivago_ quote: "Good marriages are made in heaven... or some such place." 
> 
> 4) You don't need to have seen any of the movies mentioned herein to enjoy this fic, but if you haven't I'd urge to you forget my fic and watch these instead if you have the time.

Erik isn’t often interested in going to the cinema. 

There’d been little enough times as a child he’d even been in a city, let alone to the theaters, but his mother had somehow managed it. Mostly cartoons and newsreels and a few Chaplins. 

When he was much older, much less living hand-to-mouth, after hard-gotten, ill-gotten gains had afforded him some luxury, he’d taken a shine to the opera. He never much cared for the stories, feeble antiquated tales about rich people and petty sins that meant nothing, but did rather enjoy the soaring voices. 

He’d never gotten in the habit of moving pictures and in fact remembers a time when they were called moving pictures and sound was knew, but Charles had a weakness for them. And Erik had an even more significant weakness for Charles. So it was something he not only tolerated, but also passively supported, along with taking away his long forgotten, half empty teacups, letting the children stay up too late, and buying unnecessary things for the house instead of fixing them. 

The first film they’d gone to see together was _Lolita_. 

They’d both been fans of the scandalous novel and Nabokov’s evocative prose. Charles had been comically angry at how silly and unfaithful the movie had been to the book. When Erik laughed at him, commenting on how little it mattered, Charles bristled.

“Nabokov wrote the damn screenplay! How could it possibly be so different!” he yelled when they left, unaware he was attracting the unwitting attention of teenagers gathered outside the cinema who were undoubtedly not going to see _Lolita_. 

“Did you really think they were going to make a movie about a man repeatedly raping a twelve-year-old girl?” 

Charles shook his head, his anger already dissipated, because that was the way of Charles. 

“I can’t believe Peter Sellers, of all people… I used to listen to _The Goon Show_ , for Pete’s sake.”

In the three years hence, they’d seen _To Kill A Mockingbird_ , _The Manchurian Candidate_ , _Lawrence of Arabia_ , and _Dr. Strangelove_. Well, they’d seen many more, but those had been the good ones. Most movies, in general, were trash. Erik believes he will regret until his dying day that he let the pleading eyes of Jean, Ororo, and Charles not only sucker him into seeing _Mary Poppins_ , but a special late night re-release of _West Side Story_ at the drive-in movie theater. Ironically, being able to only partially hear the dialog through shitty drive-in car speakers did not make it easier to tolerate. 

Charles, the bastard, then tormented him for weeks afterward singing “I Feel Pretty” because he thinks he is humorous, but he is not. 

Charles never had any visible preference for types of movies, scrambling for any type of celluloid input. He certainly enjoyed some more than others, but was content to watch any old thing. It took Erik a while to figure out, but Charles believed in all stories, all experiences. Charles valued variety. Charles valued love and found it everywhere in movies.

And when Charles, a devout David Lean fanatic, heard that they were filming _Doctor Zhivago_ in Spain he made a noise he’d never heard Charles make while completely dressed. When Charles read the rest of the paragraph in the newspaper explaining that playing the lead roles of Zhivago and Lara were, in his words, “the devastatingly handsome Mr. Omar Sharif and the incandescent Miss Julie Christie,” he just about swooned. 

Again, they both enjoyed the novel, so he was more than content to go. He remembered the way Charles had ogled Mr. Sharif during _Lawrence of Arabia_. He wasn’t keen about it, but he supposed if he let his jealousy extend as far as the stars of the silver screen Charles would never meet his possessiveness would be a little laughable. 

But, as always, the only real reason why Erik ever went to these things was to spend a few hours in the dark with Charles, touching and holding hands, being alone and in public at the same time. 

 

Jean fluttered around Charles, as she always did when Charles left the mansion without her. She was nearly thirteen and nearly came up to Erik’s shoulder. By all rights she was too big to clutch at him so, but they were so close. Similar in their telepathy, but also similar in disposition. In the two years Jean had lived with them, they’d gotten so close Erik could almost fool himself into thinking Jean was Charles’ natural born daughter. 

“Why can’t I come? We haven’t seen a movie in forever!” 

“This movie isn’t particularly appropriate for young people. Also, it’s time for Mr. Lehnsherr and I to spend some time alone… for intellectual pursuits.” 

There was an audible snort of derision from the table where Raven, Sean, Alex, Ororo and Scott were playing cards. The so-called adults were in various stages of not really trying to hide their giggling laughter. 

“Is this, uh, intellectual pursuit gonna require an overnight stay in the city?” Raven said with a far too happy grin. “Cause I could give you kids some extra spending money if you need—“

“Shut up,” Erik said. He pulled on Charles’ sleeve, a little less patiently than Jean. “C’mon. Let’s go.” 

“Alright. Go finish that tower you’re building, Jean dear. Oh and make sure you concentrate about the finished piece as a whole, not the individual parts. The structure is just as important. Remember what we were reading earlier about—“

Erik sighed.

Charles frowned. “Yes, alright.” He turned to Raven. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“No problemo. You two go enjoy your dinner and intellectual pursuits.” 

The prodding insinuation didn’t seem to phase Charles. “Well, what are you making for dinner? Are you sure we have enough food?” 

Raven shook her head and said, “Will you go already?” at the same time Ororo yelled, “Macaroni and Cheese!”

Which, of course, led Charles to suggest a list of healthier entrees. 

They were in the old study-cum-family-room, only stopping to say they were leaving. However with Charles only stopping usually turned into twenty or thirty minutes of questions answered, last minute instructions and chatter. Erik often wondered what it would be like, being on time for things again. 

“Your idea of being on time is a half hour early.”

“It’s good to be early.” 

“As excited as I am to see this film, I don’t fancy sitting in a theater for nearly four hours.” 

Erik’s head went a little tight. “The movie is three and a half hours long.”

“About that. It’s an epic.” 

Erik did some quick calculations about the travel time and dinner afterwards and guessed they wouldn’t be back to Westchester until two or two-thirty in the morning. Suddenly a night at a motel didn’t sound too bad. Erik was determined to make a night of this, which wouldn’t be complete without a luxurious fuck or two. And it wouldn’t do if Charles was too tired or they abandoned sex because they still had to be up early in the morning. 

But he wanted to have that conversation in the car so they were actually leaving the goddamn mansion. Thankfully, Hank came in at that moment, all blue and ruffled, beset with Kurt and Bobby on each arm, obviously having been wrestling around in another room. Erik hoped it wasn’t one of the more breakable rooms. 

Hank looked back at them with curiosity after throwing the boys on the couch, “I thought you’d left already.” 

Erik almost kissed him. He raised a brow at Charles as if to show how very right he was and how he always will be. Which, of course, when not audibly conversing with a telepath was exactly what it meant. 

Charles rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know. We’re leaving.”

They left after Charles got a band-aid for Bobby after he jumped off the couch and cut his arm on the end table. 

 

The drive into the city and wait at the cinema was long. They picked a corner at the back where it would be darkest and where no one would see them or look at them. They always made a goal of not speaking through movies, when they did it tended to get out of hand quickly, but they usually failed.

About twenty minutes in, when Lara and Yuri nearly meet for the first time on the tram, Erik heard a sort of weighted, breathy purr from Charles. Erik couldn’t help himself.

“Was that for Miss Christie or Mister Sharif?” 

He saw Charles’ smirk and a flash of blue lit up with light from the screen. 

“Who said it couldn’t be both?” 

Erik tried to hide both his delight in Charles’ attractions and his jealousy at not being Charles’ only attraction. He probably failed. But Charles slipped his elbow over the armrest separating them and tucked his hand into Erik’s. It was small, dry, cold, and reassuring, like always. Erik squeezed his fingers on top of his thigh. 

 

“You remind me of Antipov,” Erik whispered into Charles’ ear, intending to be only a little cruel about early Antipov’s naïve idealism. High-minded and pure, possibly, but Charles was definitely and vigorously alive. “But mostly Zhivago.” 

_That’s convenient because you remind me of Lara._

Erik reached over and pinched Charles’ thigh. 

 

“This is the kind of destruction and idiocy typical of the twentieth century. All false hope and ridiculous ideology. I don’t know how you—“

_Erik. I think this argument would be better done tomorrow, not during the movie._

_Yes, but—_

_Particularly if you have any hopes of having sex with me this evening._

 

**_“I am the only free man on this train! And the rest of you are CATTLE!”_ **

“Don’t you ever feel like that?” 

_Often, but so does everyone else_

 

“There’s an intermission.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“This is so long it has an intermission.” 

“I’m going to get popcorn.” 

 

“Never fall in love with anyone else.”

For a moment, Erik thought Charles was going to pretend he hadn’t heard the admittedly quiet words. But he, again, laced his fingers through Erik’s and set his head on Erik’s shoulder. Something like a quiet shush and _never mind that_ and _don’t be silly_ and _I understand_ wafted through Erik’s mind, calming the disloyal thoughts.

 

“Good god, he almost cries a lot. He could give you a run for your money, Charles.”

“Shut it.” 

 

After another breathy sigh, after a passionate embrace, Erik almost growled. 

“Do you want me to grow a mustache, perhaps? To better suit your lust?” 

Charles looked reasonably horrified by the idea. 

 

“I suppose you want to talk about love,” Erik said, huddling closer to Charles in the brisk night air. 

Charles unhesitatingly linked his arm through Erik’s, which immediately made the latter tense while the former went blithely on. Charles’ gift had made him insensible to most fears. Certainly the hate or admonition of other people being something he felt couldn’t hurt him. 

Charles pulled Erik tighter into his orbit. “Why would I need to talk about it? There are much better things than talking about it.”

 

Erik barely has time to take in the carelessly lavish adornments of the hotel room before Charles is pulling him down to the shorter height, savaging his mouth. His fingers are gripping the back of Erik's neck, feeling out the top nodule of my spine. Erik cooperates by laying his hands on Charles’s waist, pulling him closer and narrowing the distance between them to deepen their kiss. 

Erik has nothing but admiration for this aspect of Charles’ fearlessness. 

Charles bends to his knees and undoes his belt and zip, and confidently wraps his hand around his shaft. Charles dips his head, making sure to catch Erik’s eyes, and grins before taking him into his mouth. His first gentle, preliminary licks at the head turn into deeper, more yearning swallows at Erik’s cock. Charles hums around Erik, building saliva to push him back further in his mouth. 

Erik can’t resist raking his fingers through Charles’ hair, can’t resist letting his fingers follow down Charles’ working jaw. If he could, Erik would touch him all over at once, feel every ounce and inch of skin, inside and out. 

After stripping and christening the Vaseline surreptitiously bought from a dingy late night pharmacy, with the aid of Charles’ no-questions-asked telepathy, Erik moans into the expensive duvet. He is on his knees, sinking into the plush bed, with clambering over his form to lay open-mouthed kisses down his back, and then breathe cooling breaths over the wet absence of his mouth. Every muscle in Erik’s body contracts and shudders.

Charles teases two slick fingers inside Erik, and kisses his tailbone, and rubs the inside of his thigh encouragingly with his free hand.

Charles does not have Erik’s rangy advantage. When their positions are reversed Erik takes an unaccountable pride and joy in being able to tuck Charles’ form under his chest and shoulders entirely, and sink his nose into the pleasing tease of Charles’ hair. But like this, with Charles behind him, isn’t conversely dissatisfying. Charles rarely commands anything with his body after all. And his mind reaches where his lips can’t. 

Even without the telepathic touches, and knowledge subsuming his mind that he is being kissed where Charles’ mouth isn’t, Erik never feels more surrounded than when he is with Charles. There is only one person in the world for whom Erik finds comfort in that sensation rather than panic. 

When Charles directs his tumid, satin-skinned cock into Erik, he can’t help but lower his head to the bed and arch back against Charles’ hips. It’s an old movie by now that never gets old. It’s familiar and welcome and all the secure wonders of routine. Charles strokes down his spine, making tiny, rolling thrusts to get comfortable. Erik is content with the twinge and pull and pleasure of being filled and touched inside.

He’s not sure that Charles, even with his magnificent mind, can fathom the how profound that is, or how the realization is always, always new. 

Charles spreads Erik’s legs and continues to drive right into the core of him. 

The slick, fattening, fleshy sounds of their fucking-cum-lovemaking, because Charles effuses intent like Eros and turns everything into making love, not only assault the ear more cleanly than the stereophonic sound of the movie theater, but reverberate in Erik’s chest. It becomes the rhythm of his heart and blood rises to his skin. Of course Charles can hear it, can feel it in the extension of his most amazing sense and cocoons Erik in acknowledgement and glee and the rising blood pressure of his imminent orgasm. 

Erik is so laden with pleasure, of Charles’ cock against his prostate, of Charles’ cock giving a twinge of pain, of Charles on his back and his hips and his thighs and his cock and his hair and everywhere they aren’t, of Charles Charles Charles, that he can’t move for it. 

Erik comes in both their hands and Charles isn’t far behind, gripping onto Erik’s hips like he’s the last thing keeping him from falling off the edge of the world. 

And maybe in Charles’ everywhere-at-once mind, he is. He’ll never express it out loud, but hopes he is. 

As his muscles come down from the orgasm, and he slides into a breathy puddle on the bed with Charles’ comfortable weight on top of him, the _yesyesyesyou’reeverything_ of Charles’ mind caresses him equally. 

 

No, Erik isn’t often interested in going to the cinema, but he knows the value of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I intended to have Erik's line about moving pictures and sound being new a little facetious, but I think it comes off as inaccurate instead. I know that sound came out in the late 20s, and Erik would have been a tiny baby in the 30s from my movie estimates.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Some Such Place (The Big Screen Classics Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/817639) by [pocky_slash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash)




End file.
